


we're falling on each other like we're always in the dark

by katyfaise



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, OT3, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 02:39:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5113142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyfaise/pseuds/katyfaise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon simply shrugs and waves a hand. Either it didn’t pan out, or it’s not as important as the scene playing out in front of him now. Gaby isn’t sure, since he always seems to focus on one task at a time. “I should —“ he turns toward the door and Gaby chances a look toward Illya. Whatever shock was there before has worn off and she thinks that just maybe…</p>
<p>“Don’t leave,” she offers, and Napoleon stops in his tracks, back still turned to them. She can see the way his shoulders relax, a stark difference to the way Illya’s fingers tighten on her outer thighs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're falling on each other like we're always in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> over 2000 words of smut dear lord cleanse me.  
> i needed ot3 smut in my life so i'm not sorry.  
> title from ellie goulding.  
> pls let me know of any mistakes so i can fix them with haste.

Eyes are closed, heavy-lidded with the pleasure that the friction between her legs brings her. She is raising her hips, chasing the end with so much vigor that a marathon runner would be proud. It ends momentarily, and Gaby, missing the feel of a tongue against her clit and the fullness of fingers pressed inside her, whines out in a breath. 

“Don’t stop. Don’t st—“

When Gaby trails off and opens her eyes finally, she’s met with Illya still crouched between her legs, except his attention is focused on something beside them and he stares slack-jawed. She lifts herself onto her elbows and lazily turns her head to meet the curious gaze of Napoleon Solo - silent as the thief he is. 

He stands with his legs crossed at the ankles, hands in his pockets, looking as cool as ever. 

Gaby almost wishes that she could see something ruffle his always collected feathers, but something in her knows that the scene before him isn’t the most audacious thing the man has witnessed. 

“I seem to be interrupting,” Napoleon drawls, though there is the ghost of a smirk on his full lips and Gaby shifts slightly. Illya begins to pull away, but instantly Gaby digs the heels of her feet into his shoulder blades, blocking his escape with strong legs. 

“What about the lead?” Illya asks, finally finding his voice after a noticeable heavy swallow.

Napoleon simply shrugs and waves a hand. Either it didn’t pan out, or it’s not as important as the scene playing out in front of him now. Gaby isn’t sure since he always seems to focus on one task at a time. “I should —“ he turns toward the door and Gaby chances a look toward Illya. Whatever shock was there before has worn off and she thinks that just maybe…

“Don’t leave,” she offers, and Napoleon stops in his tracks, back still turned to them. She can see the way his shoulders relax, a stark difference to the way Illya’s fingers tighten on her outer thighs. Gaby looks back to the man between her legs, eyebrows raised as if to challenge him. “A little observation never hurt anyone, hm?” she continues, lowering her elbows and falling back into the chair she is half off. 

“Right, Illya?” Gaby taps her foot against his shoulder and it seems to wake him from whatever reverie he’s slipped into. He looks from her to Napoleon, then back to her and his eyes darken. There’s something akin to a growl or a grumble low in his chest before he bends over and guides his tongue along the length of her cunt, licking against her clit with the very tip of his tongue. Gaby moans out and grips the arm of the chair, sensitive and craving more all over again.

Illya holds her hips down gently with one hand, the other pressing one finger, then another, inside her. He crooks his fingers up, bending them slightly against her pubic bone and Gaby cries out - his name on her breath as she fights the grip he has on her. She opens her eyes, want and hunger clouding her dark gaze, and wraps her fingers in his hair, pressing him closer against her. 

She wants so much and so quickly and she is happily greedy.

Gaby turns her head to the side, eyes finding Napoleon’s in the heavy, tense air that surrounds them. For once, his eyes betray his cool confidence. They match hers, hungry and greedy and wanting for something he isn’t sure he’s allowed to have. She can see the bulge his pants give away, the outline of his cock in tight, fitted trousers and Gaby feels her stomach drop with the way she wants to know him as well as she knows Illya. 

Illya’s tongue works against her and Gaby can feel herself tumbling toward the edge, ready to fall over without a second thought. But she doesn’t take her eyes away from Napoleon’s even as she grinds her hips up, silently begging Illya for more. For anything he will give her. She holds her hand out, palm upwards, and Napoleon takes the invitation. He loses his jacket and kneels beside the chair, fingers lacing with hers, and stretches toward her to kiss the expanse of skin her unzipped dress exposes at her chest. She can feel Illya slow, feel the sudden wariness he always holds, and she runs her free hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. 

Gaby breaks contact with Napoleon only to meet Illya’s gaze and the moment she does she lets herself go - succumbs to the orgasm that’s been trying to make itself known. Napoleon’s lips catch the noises that leave her. His kiss is deep and Gaby wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him as close as she can manage. 

And she thinks that it’s nice to get every single thing that she desires. 

When Illya does pull away from her, he sits back on his haunches and carefully lowers her legs from his shoulders. Gaby looks over Napoleon’s shoulder at him, eyes still heavy and voice caught thanks to the way Napoleon sucks a bruise onto her skin. He looks far more at ease with the current situation in front of him than she expected at first. She stares at him with an open mouth, lips swollen and pink and she wants to kiss him. Before she gets a chance, Napoleon has stolen her moment. Perhaps he likes to think he is greedier than she is, but as Gaby watches Illya’s fingers lace into the curls at Napoleon’s neck, both of them invested in the kiss they share, she feels her greed satisfied. 

The two men break and Napoleon turns to meet Gaby’s gaze, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she cannot help the salaciousness in her eyes. Her attention darts to Illya and she leans up enough to reach up and run her palm along his stubbled cheek, to brush her thumb across his bottom lip where it’s pink and slick with not only her own wetness but Napoleon’s kiss. 

She lifts herself on her elbows again and looks at both of the men, far too quiet for her liking, far too quiet to be comfortable. 

“Perhaps I went farther than a bit of observation,” Napoleon offers and it’s Illya that snickers, then clears his throat from the laugh. 

Gaby smirks and glances toward the bedroom, the bed that she and Illya share is more than enough to accompany one more person, and both Illya and Napoleon seem to take the hint. They both stand and Napoleon offers a hand to pull her from the chair. She does so and pushes the dress completely off of her body. As soon as it drops to the floor, she’s in Napoleon’s arms and being carried to the bedroom and dropped to her feet at the edge of the bed. Illya hovers behind them, lingering near the doorway as Gaby unbuttons the remnants of Napoleon’s three piece. She craves a type of vulnerability from him that she can only get when he’s just as naked as she is. 

“Lay down,” she instructs hand flat against his chest. Napoleon isn’t one to argue so he does as she says and Gaby glances over her shoulder toward Illya. He’s disappeared into the bathroom for only a moment and when he comes out, Napoleon watches as Gaby stretches to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. Illya pulls her body close to his, one large hand against the bare skin of her waist as they share the moment. Napoleon cannot help but watch, eyes wide as the same hand drifts between Gaby’s legs and she hides her face against his chest, a moan muffled from the cotton of his shirt. Even as Illya slips a rubber into her hand, Napoleon is gripping his cock - hard and swollen against his chest as it begs for some relief. Gaby tears the wrapper with her teeth and joins him on the bed, her back to Illya as she wraps a fist around Napoleon’s cock. He leans his head back, eyelids fluttering closed as Gaby moves her hand, slower each round she makes. When she rolls the rubber on, he glances up at her, then past her head to Illya, who looks at ease for the first time in… a very long time. She straddles his waist and lowers herself onto his cock, slowly taking him in. His hands find her waist and he holds her as Gaby rolls her hips slowly, enough to adjust herself to the feeling. 

Napoleon whispers something about her beauty and Gaby assures him that she knows and that he should shut up. 

Luckily she doesn’t have to ask twice.

Gaby, with her hands flat against his chest, begins to ride him. Slowly at first, then she gains more speed, her body loosening and growing accustomed to every line of Napoleon. There is a bit of shuffling behind her, but Gaby cannot be bothered to investigate. Illya sheds his own clothing and moves behind her, his body a rigid rock against hers. She leans back, moaning out as his hands massage the softness of her small breasts and trail down her body until his fingers are rubbing her clit in time with each thrust of Napoleon’s. Gaby holds her hand over Illya’s, guiding him exactly as she pleases. She feels as if her skin is on fire, hot on every inch as hands caress and touch her over and over. 

It’s Napoleon that comes first, already near his orgasm the moment she climbed atop him. Fingers dig into the skin at her waist and Gaby breathes out, hands leaving Illya’s to hold onto Napoleon’s as his own hips jerk forward and she slows her movements, her cunt tight around him still. She isn’t sure where they begin or end, but as Illya’s rough fingertips roll over her clit, Gaby reaches back and pulls his lips to hers. She comes with her fingers digging into his neck and her teeth drawing blood from his lip. His fingers against her sensitive skin are nearly too much to handle and she slumps back against him, chest heaving in time with Napoleon beneath her. 

She thinks for a moment on how much she loves Illya. Gaby knows she has fallen for Napoleon too, but each bit of love she reserves for them is different. The love she feels for Illya is pure white fire, burning so hot to the touch that it cleanses her.

(The love she’s discovered for Napoleon might drag her back down to the pits of earth, but she cannot be bothered.)

Illya’s cock is hard against her back and she reaches to grab at him. He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and licks down her neck, teeth brushing her sweat coated skin. 

She lifts herself off of Napoleon and stretches as he removes the rubber and ties it off. Her attention turns to Illya, wraps her arms around his neck and pulls his body close to hers. Gaby glances toward Napoleon, and the way his eyes change watching the two of them. 

Gaby knows that he needs him all the same.

Who is she to deny such a basic need?

She shuffles back and Napoleon fits himself between the two of them enough that his slick lips can wrap around Illya’s cock. That strangled sound is made again, and Gaby cannot help but bite her own lip, the image before her enough that she feels her arousal growing all over again. She swallows it back down, though, and leans close enough to kiss Illya, to curl her fingers in Napoleon’s hair and guide him as his head bobs up and down and takes Illya’s cock as far as he can afford. He pulls away slightly, tongue following the curve of his cock. If Illya has concerns about the state of their relationship, he’s decided not to share them. And with the way Napoleon so beautifully takes his cock in that mouth of his, Gaby wonders if Illya will ever make any of his concerns known.

Napoleon swallows each bit of Illya’s come when his body eventually gives up control, and Gaby brushes her fingers along his lips, kisses him after a breath, and tastes the salt there. She turns back to Illya and repeats the action then pulls him down to the bed with her to hold him against her chest and her cooling skin. Idly, she runs her fingers through Illya’s hair, lets his legs tangle with hers, and she catches Napoleon trying to scoot toward the edge of the bed, their moment broken by whatever awkwardness he is allowing to take over. 

“Napoleon,” she voices, and both she and Illya glance at him with tired eyes. Satisfied eyes. Eyes that might give away what each of them is feeling in such a vulnerable moment. Napoleon falters and simply retrieves a pillow from the floor beside the bed before curling up beside the two of them, hands tentatively mixing alongside Gaby and Illya’s. 

Gaby wishes that Napoleon’s eyes were as expressive, that, like before, they gave away even an ounce of what he feels. But for now she hangs onto how he settles beside her and that’s enough.


End file.
